Hidden beneath Magic
by Ladiladida
Summary: Childermass could hide in the shadows and move as he pleased, a once thief and now bearer of others' fortunes. But most of all he was Gilbert Norrell's trusted servant, yet how much of his servant did Norrell really know, for there was a side to this man that very few knew. This is a Childermass/OFC story and will run parallel to the events of JS&MN.
1. Chapter 1

_**A.N: Hello, I've been a fan of this story and particularly Childermass' character for a long while now so I thought I would venture a little fic about this fellow. This should run parallel to JS &MN. Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated **____**.**_

 **Chapter One**

The snow had rested bitter and grasping over York Minster, the scene however was peaceful in a fresh blanket of snow and it was worthy of a painting. The visible stars sparkled alongside the moon who oversaw the night's events under her silvery pallor. It was a haunting, bewitching night, yet as John Childermass waited, he considered how the scene felt like it was holding its breath. Something was to happen here tonight, he knew that well enough. His stomach wanted to be filled with more excited urgency than his chilled, tired yet determined frame expressed, but at this point he could not. Was he unsure whether Norrell would live to his word? Perhaps. Norell could flip one way or another dependent on his convictions and this would be his foray into England knowing about his abilities as a magician. So, with the contract in hand, Childermass leant against the wall of the Minster and awaited the first sound of the scurrying feet and whispered voices of those from the Friends of English Magic Society they had lured here.

What followed has gone down in history, though for a while it was confused amidst gossip and speculation. Men bore witness to the powers of Norrell, no washer women, only doubting men who were made to see. With this done, signatures and believers to boot, Childermass' task for the night was complete. He should ride back to Hurtfew immediately and report to Norell. However, after waiting in the cold and seeing the reactions of the doubters, he decided to remain in York a little longer. His stomach now struck up and rumbled in need of food and though wearing a great overcoat, his body needed warming before riding back to the Abbey.

The Inn he knew well enough, its keeper knew him too on the rare yet remarked occasions he had ventured in. The fellow in question, Isaac Wessle had realised early that John Childermass was a secretive sort and yet a generously paying sort and so taking advantage he allowed the latter to dine privately in a small back room near the kitchen. It was neatly furnished this room and with a generous though not frivolous fire. And now as on a handful of previous occasions, Childermass was shown through to this spot by Wessle. With his needs regarding food and drink taken in hand, Childermass removed his large overcoat and pulled the chair closer to the fire to warm his bones, rubbing his hands to regain the feeling within them.

As he leant back feeling relaxed, he allowed his eyes to drift shut. The purpose of this was not to steal a few minutes to doze; rather he honed his memory and senses together to recall all those cries and scuttles from inside the Minster. Back in his days as a thief and pickpocket, memory and skill were immeasurable to him and now as the world appeared to be about to roll into a new era, he wanted to remember every second of how it began. This was not about Norrell to him, but about a change in the fabric of magic and England herself. To forget one drop of what he would witness, would be to drain the ocean.

As his eyes were still replaying the sounds of those doubters and the crisp snow sullied with their footprints, he felt a pair of hands sink into his hair and begin to drag the dexterity of their fingers across his scalp. Back and forth they worked, gently circling and occasionally scratching a little in a way that was hypnotic and heavenly and he allowed a deep sigh to escape his lips. These fingers were skilled and should have been known to all of England as the hands that could will the secrets from the most oyster like of mankind. One minute under such ministrations as he was experiencing now would give up any secret he was sure. Childermass let out a low, deep murmur of contentment under these hands and his mouth fully relaxed into the chair. How long she worked at unknotting the physical care the last hour had put upon him he was not sure, it can only have been delicious minutes that seemed like endless hours. As the fingers flexed out and then drew back together near the base of his ears, a soft, familiar voice said.

"Your vittels are here."

At once those fingers withdrew quickly, but with a quick reflex of that of a thief, he seized one of her wrists. His eyes were open now and he was aware of every inch of space between them. The wrist he had caught neither flinched nor yielded, the owner merely stood still awaiting what would follow. His eyes traced the hand which showed signs of toil but as he well knew was always spotlessly clean right down to the finger nails, then to the wrist he held. The arm which was wrapped in a dark blue sleeve was scrutinised by the inch, then her shoulder, the curve of her throat and at last her face.

Her dark green eyes fixed on his and he remembered what those people out there always had remarked about them. These eyes he was told were lovely but untrustworthy, such things were even uttered by Wessle himself. Encased in the emerald iris was her dark pupil and as a pairing this gave her gaze a sharpness. People claimed they were too deep, too difficult to gauge, this was foolishness of course. As what so many saw as untrustworthiness, he saw as a knowing intelligence, it was not intimidating in any way to him but nor was it to be disregarded.

"Should I venture a question?" She asked in a tone that was neither harsh nor soft but so matter of fact in both its meaning and its warmth he could almost offer a smile. Her head gestured to the steaming plate with its generous slice of pie at the table and the tankard of ale. He remarked it from the corner of his dark eyes but remained looking at her and when she returned her own gaze to him, he shook his head.

"You've not much time then, best get this eaten."

She disappeared whilst he ate the majority of his meal, he wasn't hurrying for the sake of updating Norrell, the man had had him standing out in the cold after all. But still, time was of the essence and he was not to dawdle either. One his final few mouthfuls she returned and stood behind him, her hands choosing to rest on his shoulders and she exchanged any words with him from above, rather than facing him.

"Somethin' is about to change." He remarked normally, knowing she would have no idea about what he referred to yet understanding his meaning completely, she was contrary like that. Norrell's life and Childermass' part in it had a black veil drawn over it. Not even this woman so close to him was aware and yet, when Childremass spoke of change, she knew it had great bearing. He often considered this is why some thought her deceitful, she always knew and deep down, that unsettled people. Yet there was enough of her own mystery to build such foolish ideas in people too. She had ventured down from further in the North but no one could be entirely sure where. At times when she had spoken hurriedly, Childermass noted strong inflections of the North East buried in her smooth tones but it had splintered from the years she had moved around Yorkshire.

The skill he had just been privy too was known around here to, at times she had utilised those hands to help a lady unnerved and in low spirits following the birth of her baby, or the child suffering from night terrors down the street. The rumour that began was that she had learnt this imperative skill to soothe with living her father. It was said he was a heavy drinker and her learnt gift had the means of sparing her his fists when he was riled with drink. Never for all the time he had known her had she ever spoken of her past, Childermass imagined she had spoken to no one at all of it. These rumours were like rain however, they would form from nowhere and fall where they pleased, but she was sheltered from it because she did not care.

Childermass was a little different from the varying gossips and strangers she encountered, there paths had crossed at odd moments in the street over the years. Even before Norrell he had witnessed her and he knew more than many. On one autumn night he had seen her allow a man to pay for a root to her lodgings and her body when she was likely no more than fifteen. He perceived this a handful of times more over five or six years (she being some years younger than he) and he saw her change from an adolescent girl into a worldly wise young woman of the area. Though at no point did the word whore come to his mind any more than the word thief came to hers. It had been a thing needed in occasional moments of necessity, it had never been her calling. Childermass did not judge her for it, for he did not care about it, the future was the thing, this night had shown that. Yet right now, being in her atmosphere was the thing, the feel of her hands on his shoulders, her chin brushing slightly against his hair. Placing his fork down, he rested one of his own large hands atop of hers, sandwiching it between his thin shoulder and his lean paw. Her presence offered more comfort than at any other point in his life. It was a strange sort of honour when his once thief's hand rested atop of her skilled one.

"I'll have to be headin' back soon, Rosie." He said with a groan of impatient reluctance, the type that communicated the way his eyes would otherwise painfully roll. The hand slipped from where it was held and traced down his shirt sleeve as she circled to the side of him and stopped atop his own wrist. Her dark blue dressed showed signs of a very light smattering of flour on her cuff which he did not see before, it was rather like the stars across the dark sky of earlier. She somehow had the night written as much on her sleeve as it was written on his face and seeming to sense this, she moved the hand from his wrist to cup his cheek.

"Ready to return to the Abbey with your monk." She quipped lightly. "A little warmer than before and a little less starved."

Her lilt rolled smooth and clean, no devious notes in it at all, her words spoke of neither ignorance nor fancy education. He was a plain spoken man, yet she had the way of a diplomat or philosopher sometimes in the way she spoke. But now it seemed there was a teasing edge to her voice that sparked that hidden part of him that held the animal. As though sensing the invitation, she moved and sat upon his knee, her back melding against his chest and his cheek pressed close to hers so she could feel every hair and bit of stubble tickling her skin there. His hands spanned out and could almost encircle the expanse of her waist. She was thinner beneath him he noted than when he had last visited and he took a moment to wonder how ragged she was being run. Yet still she had coaxed out the animal with her playful tone a moment earlier and so his fingers now massaged her waist in small circular motions.

Childermass' fond feelings for her meant she was a secret to be kept, they both enjoyed a shared universe of clandestine meetings, not because they had reason to be ashamed, but merely that it suited them. In the past they had been acquaintances and then friends, when those lines blurred into deeper intimacy, a bond was formed that endured the sporadic intimacies they shared. Of late he had barely had much time to visit yet she did not seem to remark on the period of absence whether great or short. Outside of here she was her own force, spinning on her axis in the revolving world.

His hands moved higher up her waist and rested at the underside of the curve of her breasts and her head still relaxed against his though his breathing he knew was gaining weight. As if seeming to ignore his movements, she moved her head after some moments to look at him and brushed away the hair from his cheek as though it was irritating her. His hands remained were they were, expanding again below her breasts to lock her in place but he looked at her somewhat darker eyes.

"What you're doing doesn't match what you're saying Mr Childermass." She said bluntly and he wasn't sure if she slid herself back a little on his knee deliberately but he emitted a growled sigh.

"No I suppose they don't." He remarked and he increased his grip on her though not painfully and pushed her body a little further onto him. "But don't give me any of this mister business."

"John." She laughed lightly, his name almost sounding like a question on her lips yet it was not meant that way. It seemed she was still in a playful mood.

"Rosie." He mimicked her tone and with that she twisted her body suddenly so that his hands slid a little down as her own gripped his shoulders again. That flush of delicious want expanded from where her lips met his through his entire body and for a short while he allowed himself to be its slave, yet both knew better of it. Rosie wasn't young anymore (though she had not yet reached thirty), but her life experience whatever it was had taught her patience. Childermass' restlessness increased all the more now and his duty and his need raged in him as they kissed. It was she that slid off his knee and released him so that he could return to the importance of what he had to impart to Norrell. In that way she was good for him, for she knew the road he travelled was important to maintain, whatever its destination. It was with deep affection that she occasionally withdrew herself from his arms or even his space for this to benefit.

She helped him with his coat more as a means of keeping them both from the distraction of each other than anything else, but yet he still took her waist in his hands again and pressed his lips madly to hers for some minutes more. This time his grip was vice like and his want evident and though the timing was against them, he would at least have this for the time being. Rosie did not argue, for indeed she was as mad for him. When he pulled back to speak his rasped, frustrated breathing filled the space between them and those deep green eyes observed him with their keenness and spirit.

"I'll come again soon, maybe tomorrow or the day after. What's happen'd today…" He paused a moment and considered. "Things can only change now… so I'll have to come again soon for otherwise, it could be longer."

These great matters he alluded to meant little to Rosie, she did not know and therefore could not imagine or offer a response. All she knew was that her daily life continued as always with her little purposes here and there until he would come again. If that was to be sooner then so much the better but she could survive without him. That is in truth what made her even more of an importance to him, for he loved her in as deep a way as man can, yet could not often impart it.

"I'll bring a blanket through next time." She murmured against his lips, as she allowed him to kiss her again, her brief betrayal of want for him made him groan.

"Next time I'm here, I'm not being with you on any blanket." He promised and he felt her shiver. Childermass' hands pulled her closer to him by the waist for a moment so that he could burn every bit of her in his mind, though he knew her so well already. Then he gently released her and stepped back as a many truly tempted only could.

Childermass left her then and stood out in the cold of the street for some minutes as he re-accustomed himself to the steeled reality that was the rest of his life without her. The other, if in truth bigger part of his life, the magic and England. To return to Norrell for whatever was to come in this field meant he had to temporarily exorcise all thoughts of her and the coldness of the night did just that. Norrell would be up he was sure, impatient in his quiet self importance and Childermass often wondered if he ever used his gift to look to the life of his trusted servant. But it was a thought soon lost as he pulled himself onto his horse and started the journey back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The journey left every bump in the road known to the two travellers as they rode down from York to start their next step in London. Childermass could see that Norrell was mixed with the want to show the Minister of War his capabilities as a magician, but the reluctance in his eyes did not go unnoticed. The pair had spoken several times in the last few hours about it, sometimes covering similar ground. After some time, Childermass grew weary of Norrell's statements as the aching need in his legs to walk and the pang for food mixed to dampen his otherwise middling mood. His eyes drifted closed as he was also tired from the journey thus far and with the knowledge they would be stopping at an Inn in the next few hours, he decided to try and gain some sleep despite the bumps and shudders of the road.

Strangely, sleep snatched him easier than he believed, within ten minutes of closing his eyes he had fallen into a light but useful sleep and his mind took himself to his days as a somewhat younger man.

" _Come all ye lads and lasses,_

 _Pray attend unto my song_

 _I hope you will not find it short,_

 _Or yet so very long_

 _Tis of the rigs and fancy prigs,_

 _You'll meet with I declare_

 _If you but spend an hour or two_

 _At Nottingham Goose Fair."_

Childermass saw the Sampson fish market in his dream's eye, he could even catch the strong stench of the morning catches in the mists of his memory. Yet along with the smell of fish came those hearty notes. He'd been with Mr Norrell for a few years, learning some important magic as he went. Yet his restlessness and days as a thief still took to him occasionally as he lingered around old haunts. She stood there along with two other women on similar stalls nearby, her hands busy with the industry of her employment. Her back was to him, her hair like a twist of jet plaited and hanging down her back. It shone in the moments that she passed in the sun's way and contrasted completely with the brown, worn gown and gut soiled apron that she wore. As he has passed one gentlemen and was near the stall he gave in to a passingurge and easily fingered a coin or two from the man's pocket. Glancing up however, he saw that the song had stopped and the reason being that those deep, shrewd eyes were watching him. Her singing can only have lapsed for a mere few seconds as she watched him, yet what was it that those eyes spoke of? Disapproval? Was she impressed? He could not tell, but in his dream and at the time of it happening he had remembered being pleased to see her again for it had been some time.

" _Let's haste away, make no delay_

 _To Nottingham we'll repair_

 _And if you have an hour or two_

 _Then spend it at the fair."_

He stalked to the man again and with swift dexterity, returned the coins he had pilfered. As he looked up again he found to his somewhat disappointment that she was no longer looking at him, her back once again turned from his gaze. As with the fleeting moment he shared with her, like the song she had just sang, she moved on to another look and another melody.

" _My candle burns at both ends,_

 _It will not last the night._

 _But ah my foes_

 _And oh my friends,_

 _It gives a lovely light."_

The other ladies joined her with this one, it was a hearty sound and festive in the winter chill. Childermass moved on through the crowd, determined to return back to his books at Norrell's residence. His dream reminded him of the resentment he felt as he stalked through like a shadow. It took only a second in the dream, yet how long had it been in reality, some minutes? The sense of not being alone was with him as he reached the outskirts of the market and growing tired of it he turned rapidly on his heel , ready to be on the defensive. Her pupils grew larger, just a fraction from surprise, or was it the scowl on his face? Rosie never did tell him, but though he did his best fierce look and emitted a kind of growl with the means to speak, she was unperturbed.

"I see so little of you around here these days." She remarked. "Were it not for your familiar ways I would doubt it was you."

Rosie greeted him like they were old, old acquaintances and in some ways they were for their encounters around the city had been numerous at one time or another, even if just mere glances in the street. She had the fresh faced look of a young woman around twenty, yet the understanding in her eyes was always so much older. Did she carry a spirit of a much older being and was merely the host? The soul they said was always in the eyes.

"No, I've other things to take up my time." He replied, his voice almost sounding lazy.

"Ah." She noted his tone and started to turn away. "I'll take up no more of it."

Rosie has taken a few steps away from him but then had stopped and seemed to hesitate. The sight had been strangely pleasant to him and though with no fixed words he wanted to say, he moved over to her. There was an unspoken presence between them, the elephant in the room that they had not spoken of. Nearing her, she had looked up into his face though not fully turning and it was one of the few times he witnessed her less confident, her emotions settled more obviously on the surface.

"How did you end up here?" He asked.

"It turns out that I can gut fish quicker than the last lass." She remarked, a more serene expression falling upon her face, it made her look quite lovely. "I have always had a skill with my hands, I'm told. It appears I am not the only one."

"I put it back." He had replied, not out of justification but merely for something to say, he always said his piece to Norrell but just now he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say, only that he wanted to speak with her.

"Sometimes we all keep our hand in when we need to."

This remark he presumed referred to the time before last when he had seen her with a man in tow out of necessity. Gutting fish was a step in the right direction away from such things.

"Where are you finding yourself now?" She asked.

"I work out at Hurtfew Abbey, a… servant to Mr Norrell."

"I know Mr Norrell by sight I think, he is a regular visitor in book shops."

"Find yourself in many?" Childermass asked, sensing that her eyes were those of a reader.

"When I can. You?"

"When I can."

"Last time I saw you…" She began. "You were shuffling some cards idly in your hands, they seemed very precious to you… what were they?"

"The cards of Marseilles, I drew my own from a deck I borrowed from a sailor once."

Across the air came the sound of Rosie's name being called from behind her, it was a gruff man's voice. Her disappearance had been noticed. Surprisingly, Rosie did not seem perturbed by the notes of displeasure within the call, in fact there was almost a roll of the eyes. Childermass found himself laughing a little.

"And what do you do with them?" She continued, not discouraged by the call.

"I read people's futures."

The carriage shook over a patch of uneven ground and Childermass was shaken awake. He became immediately disgruntled at being disturbed from the reverie and glancing outside he saw only grey skies and mist over the land they drove through. It was uninspiring and dull, helping little with his mood.

"What did you borrow from a sailor, Childermass?" Norrell asked. "You spoke of it whilst you slept."

"My cards, sir."

Norrell gave a sigh, it was a sigh that implied _those things_ and was a sigh of disapproval. Childermass didn't care for his master's displeasure at his possession of such a deck. Instead he folded his arms and continued to watch the overcast world go by, though his mind still recalled the memory of that day in Sampson market.

"That must take some talent." She had observed with a smile. "Are you a charlatan or a magician?"

"I'd have to read for you, you'd make up your mind from that."

Here she had shook her head, though she still smiled and he noticed unlike a lot of women around here, her teeth were still good and clean, not yellowy and rotten. The smile bloomed her face into something truly striking to him and though he had at least a decade over her in years, he felt the almost unsteadiness of youth.

"I need to get back." She said quickly, suddenly conscious of time and again she set off only to turn back. "I do some serving at the Bull Inn now, we've both put our old ways behind us."

Childermass had watched her weave through the crowd until she went out of sight, only when she was gone from view did he turn his back on the scent of fish and flee to the cleaner air of Hurtfew. From then on he had found himself obliged to try the Bull Inn from time to time, sometimes seeing her there and other times not. Yet he had found it a welcome place to gain privacy when he happened to be in the city on Norrell's business.

To this day she had never let him read for her, her future seemed to show her as little interest as he felt towards his own. Travelling with Norrell as he did now was to further English Magic, for that is where his loyalty lay, not with his master. Still, he was furnished with enough sense to see that assisting Norrell was currently assisting English Magic.

When the decision had been made that following morning after the events at York Minster to move to London and offer Norrell's services to the war, Childermass kept to his word. Two days since having last seen her, he had waited for her in the early hours of the morning, knowing she would be finished at the Bull Inn. Making himself a shadow, he had allowed himself to accompany her some of the way unnoticed, she was tired and her skin was glistening from heated work in the Inn though now the early morning frost nipped at her cheeks making them glow.

Allowing himself to be seen at last, he walked a few steps behind her and she stopped dead where she stood. Turning and giving him a look of disapproval in the low lamplight of the street she jibed.

"How long have you been there?"

"A while."

"I suppose there were only two jobs available to you when you gave up thieving, a shadow or an undertaker." Her voice sounded sarcastic, but when he approached her and seized hold of her waist, demanding her gaze, her expression ripened humourously.

"That's a very cutting remark."

"Not to you it's not." She laughed lightly; she seemed pleased with the warmth his body offered as she only had a shawl over her grey dress.

Taking his glove off he touched the rosy cheek and felt the chilled skin there.

"We should get you inside." He observed, he had noticed she was thinner lately, he couldn't do with her sickening. Taking out a coin from his pocket, not even caring to look which it was he continued. "Get yourself something warmer for these walks home."

"I do earn money you know." She replied, pressing her index finger to his chest as though offended. "And as to getting me inside, Mrs Drake won't have you in."

"I've seen to the inside bit already."

Rosie's eyes widened a little bit in surprise.

"Aye that's right." He leant nearer to her ear and said hotly. "I earn money to."

If the sound of his voice made her shiver, Childermass couldn't tell due to the cold, but he remained there a moment, enjoying how his close proximity might be making her feel. After all, he was keeping a promise from the last time they met. He took her to another Inn some streets away, their room accessed without any difficulty and once inside he took hold of her to both kiss and warm her up. But Rosie stopped him.

Looking around she saw the simple, yet neat arrangement of the room and smiled to herself before looking back to him.

"Something respectable has come from this money you earn."

She kissed him quickly then, teasingly and his hands snaked around her body, melding them together.

"That depends on how you judge respectable."

"That is true." She nodded, then pressed a single kiss to his jaw line just short of his ear. "But something tells me you have something to say first."

Childermass realised she was right, reluctant due to the close proximity of their bodies and his need for her to discuss it. But he needed to impart the London plans to her first, so they sat down by the fire to warm themselves up and he explained as much as he was able. Rosie listened patiently, her expression unchanged. When he was finished and she understood the duration would be a long one, potentially permanent she moved forward and seated herself astride his lap and began to kiss him.

But as he had watched her, Childermass had realised one other important thing, he could not do without her. Though her kisses were stirring the animal again it was the mere sight of her but moments earlier, listening intently, those large, green eyes focused on him that did it. His hands came up and loosened hers from the material of his coat that she held and he said rather bluntly, almost impatiently.

"I want you to come."

At first she looked at him, her eyes narrowed before growing large again. Was she testing his resolve or waiting for him to laugh it off as a joke? His face was never more serious.

"I don't see how that would be possible." She answered. "Your matters… they are too great."

This wasn't false modesty or lack of confidence that made her speak so, if he left tomorrow without her somehow she would continue her life's course un-derailed. In that way she was rather like him.

"I want you to come, the question is will you."

"London will be just this?"

"Yes." He replied. "There was always one thing I believed mattered above all things these last eighteen years and that still stands but… that is the greater thing for England. This is something I care to own for myself."

"London might swallow me up." She laughed.

"It will be as it is now." He explained, his voice sounding serious with a tinge of a promise. "Will you come?"

"How is it to be done?"

"Will you come?" He said again, almost growling with impatience to know this was not the end and because his body raged to know hers again.

"I will." She said at last, his fierceness almost making her nervous yet she was not afraid of him. "Even if it is to take time."

There was nothing more said, he kissed her madly, clothes strewn about the room and he placed her on the bed impatient to know every inch of her before he was to leave. For someone with such an air of indifference about so much of his life, those who knew him from elsewhere would be shocked to see the command with which he took in this private sphere of his life that was theirs and their alone.

Afterwards, she used those hands of hers to run over his scalp hypnotically once more, she did this on many occasions as they lay tangled together. But eventually, she herself ceased and laid on her side with the want to be held and with Childermass pressed up behind her they felt warm and contented together. This position had been the start of it all really, laid resting together like two spoons, his arm draped over hers, keeping her close to him. But that had been under different circumstances, he could still feel the shivers of her body from that day in the memory of his fingertips.

In those hours with her before he departed for London, he thought of that afternoon that he held her for the first time after her trouble and how he held her now. And now as the carriage ground to a halt at an Inn, he thought of it again. There was much to be done for magic and for a few years he felt he would never care for anything other than that. To others it seemed the case, Norrell especially. But beneath the magic, he had something for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Some years earlier_

"Christmas is upon us again, Childermass." Norrell had uttered as he lingered over a large volume by the fire one evening. It was growing dark though the clock had only struck four thirty. His servant sat by the window, an urge to smoke his clay pipe rising within him but he never did such things in front over Norrell. They had been cooped up together at Hurtfew now for several days, the snow had been thick and difficult for even Childermass to ride out into. To say he had cabin fever would be an understatement and he had taken to being more than usually quiet, listening to Norrell's little audible acknowledgements here and there as he read. This was not how magic was to be surely? Norrell had turned finally and remarked his servant when Childermass had not replied his comment, he observed that the snow had waned in the last day and the outside world looked clearer.

"Oh for goodness sake Childermass," He griped. "Why don't you go out?"

"I've said nothing." Childermass replied, he had no fixed desire to be anywhere in particular, merely to have his own company without Norrell's scrutiny and yes maybe his pipe filled.

"All the same, we've been in here for over a week, take yourself somewhere where there is some festivity. I am quite happy here."

Indeed, were it not for the need of basic amenities, Childermass wondered if Norrell would ever leave that chair. With no further encouragement needed, Childermass rose from where his body had stiffened and left the room. He took up his coat and hat and fetched his horse from Norrell's stable and set out towards York. The evening air was chilly as he expected but the roads were clearer and it was a fairly easy ride to the city. Once there, he had been able to find himself some tobacco for his pipe and headed for the Bull Inn for the usual spot of dinner, he appreciated on his last visit the hearty slice of pie they served.

To his surprise when he arrived, the place was packed to the rafters, Christmas cheer it seemed was in full swing and from the corner an accordionist played and there were babbling voices and bellowed laughter. The air was close, a mixture of good food and cloves plus a whiff here and there of working men. He had seen Rosie but twice since their meeting at the fish market and neither time had they really spoken for she had been working. Tonight however, she was nowhere to be seen and this irked Childermass.

Thankfully Isaac Wessle spotted him as he was about to leave and beckoned him with a hand. To Childermass' surprise, he was shown to a comfortable backroom with a fire and a pleasant set up. He wasn't an idiot, Wessle had clearly spotted a man who was not a regular but likely had money to spend and a predilection for his own society.

"You can take your repast here sir if you wish?" Wessle explained. "A couple of shillings will allow you such Christmas comfort."

Childermass agreed and for the next few hours he smoked, ate and drank in the comfort of his own person. For the odd moment he even found his eyes drifting closed as his mind cast back to time as a boy with his mother or even his career as a pickpocket. This was not quite sleeping, nor was he fully awake until a song drifted over the murmurs of the crowded inn and reached his ears. Opening his eyes he sat forward and listened, he knew that voice though one or two others now joined it. Standing up he made his way back to the main throng of the inn and to his benefit, his height allowed him a good view over most of the crowd. Alongside the accordionist were two women and a man, one of them being Rosie. Her hair was most down having been loosened from a plait, yet the irritating front tendrils were twist back and fastened. Her gown was not the brown sackcloth he often saw her in, but a plan berry shade that complimented her colouring. A large smile was present on her face and to his surprise, she was seated on the knee of the young man singing with her. His arm was snaked about her waist, the hand visible for it rested just underneath one breast. This indeed would have been scandalous anywhere else, but in the drunken, jovial crowd, it seemed acceptable.

" _Here come we wassailing,_

 _Among the leaves so green;_

 _Here we come a wandering_

 _So fair to be seen."_

She had begun again, a merry, giddy edge to her lovely voice and he could tell that she was growing ripe with drink and the festivities. At this point her two companions and the crowd around all joined in.

" _Love and joy come to you_

 _And to you your wassail too;_

 _And God bless you and send you a Happy New Year_

 _And God send you a Happy New Year."_

Seeing his mysterious customer, Wessle came across and accosted Childermass and asked after his comfort and needs. This interrupted his view of Rosie, for like himself, Wessle was a thin, beanpole of a man and within seconds, Childermass had lost his patience.

"I am fine, leave me be."

"Very well, sir." Wessle asked, yet he continued to jabber. "May I ask where you've travelled from, I see you in here occasionally but it has been a while."

"I work for Mr Norrell of Hurtfew."

"I see… I hear of Mr Norrell… he is a fine gentleman I'm told though not one for…"

From his view, Childermass saw Rosie being pulled to her feet by her female companion, the man following and they moved towards the door, though the crowd continued with the accordionist. Paying his debts Childermass left the Inn and concealing himself in a way he had mastered from Norrell, he followed the trio at a distance. There was no rhyme or reason for this, but he had a feeling, a feeling his cards didn't need to tell him. The ladies he realised were really rather drunk, they continued their singing down the street, arm in arm, whilst their male companion slinked a little behind them like some prowling cat.

For some time they all walked together, but then there were a row of tenement houses, dank and dreary looking and here it seemed, Rosie was to part from her friends. Though they did not part company until the man handed over a bottle of something to Rosie. As the two companions continued down the street, Rosie took the bottle and took several great gulps from it and Childermass saw the effect of it loosen her limbs and make a giddy laugh escape her lips. From there she walked into the darkness of her lodgings and disappeared from view. For a few minutes he remained, just in case the prowler returned, but despite the sound of distant voices, all was quiet on the street.

On a somewhat busier street, in a far larger city some years later, Childermass gathered up his scattered Cards of Marseille after Vinculus had vanished. The site of an approaching raven on the cards and the beggar's words had unnerved him and in that moment he wished that Rosie had arrived in London. But this was for the best, he needed to decide what to do next for he was always to be three steps ahead if he was to help Norrell champion English magic. But some quiet contemplation required a place where there was no insipid Henry Lascelles or that idiot Drawlight, let alone Norrell with his questions. A place to think and plan, to review what he had just seen and the words imparted to him. Childermass opted instead for a detour walk home, the city streets would be his thinking time.

A day or two later, he found himself thinking about that Christmas Eve in York. Henry Lascelles' presence in their London house seemed permanent from Norrell rising until he retired to bed and it was wearing. It was times like this he would've enjoyed a retreat, but where was there to go in this city? He knew no place worth wandering too. So instead, with the absence of Rosie, he thought of her all the more, it was a pleasant distraction from Norrell. She would know now about it all, the papers heralding Norrell as the washer of linen. That rumour had indeed amused Childermass in private moments. Rosie would know now that he was involved with the great magician, even perhaps that he was one too. Maybe he should have told her himself.

All those years ago he had taken to coming out once or twice a week and he would watch her comings and goings, mainly keeping an eye on that wolfish young man who seemed to follow her about. Once or twice she was at work and the when she was sent to the back room to serve him his usual meal she had smiled so sweetly at him, though her eyes were red and tired.

"Hello." She said with pleasant surprise. "You found us."

"I've been here a few times."

"How have I not seen you?"

"You had other company." He replied normally, though this seemed to make her hesitate.

"Sit yourself down, we'll bring you your food."

Rosie did not return for the best part of an hour, but Childermass never being a man to rush without intent lingered in the chair smoking his clay pipe. Another young woman came and cleared his things and topped up his ale but only when the clock was edging toward eleven did Rosie come back through.

"Are you not keen to return home?"

"In time." He answered and he looked at her square in the face from his relaxed position, though she seemed nervous under such scrutiny. "Were you not called on to sing tonight?"

"Sing?" She laughed. "No, that is more to keep my own spirits up."

"Seemed like you brought a cheer to the place when I was last here."

"That's kind of you to say."

"Are you busy this evening?" He asked, standing and coming over to her.

"No, I will be finishing up shortly."

"Then might I walk you back to your lodgings?" He asked normally, he sensed she'd say yes but the look on her face was slightly questioning.

"I… I do not do…"

"You normally walk with other people but I don't see them here tonight."

"How do you…" She almost laughed now, baffled by his knowledge.

"I notice things."

"So it seems." She said and had it not been for their fleeting previous familiarity, she likely would have said no. This counted in his favour. "Yes, you can."

A little while later she had met him by the door of the Inn, she had left a little after him so that no one noticed their leaving together. Childermass saw how the moment that the spring night air hit her face, she searched in her small linen bag and brought out a bottle. At first she offered it to him but he declined, watching her take a deep swig though she was graceful about it. The way hers eyes shut when the alcohol slipped down her throat and the fleeting serenity sweeping across her face did not go unnoticed. Rosie it seemed, enjoyed a drink and perhaps it was one of her few pleasures. Returning the bottle they began to walk, he betraying his knowledge of where she resided from walking slightly ahead, leading the way. After they turned into her street, he first, she stopped forcing him to do the same.

"Have you followed me before?" She asked almost indignantly.

"At times."

"Do you make a habit of that?"

"My previous employment gave me a skillset, I have improved upon it in recent years, learnt a thing or two."

"You'll know enough then to see I'm not worth robbing."

"That." He remarked slowly. "Was never my intention."

"Then what was?"

"To see you home right, one way or another."

"You're not here every night surely?" She said, laughing at the idea, her face looking lovely when either cross like a moment ago or lighter such as now.

"No."

"Then you can see that I am capable of finding my own way."

Rosie began to walk towards her tenement but Childermass caught up with her and lightly caught her arm. Whirling around she looked at where his large hand gently stopped her.

"Though you let me join you?"

"I… I was pleased to see you that day in the market… it felt like seeing an old friend again, though I hardly know you… tonight has proven that."

"You seem to have friends enough." He had answered, and both of them knew to who he referred. Her brow furrowed into a frown, a look he himself regularly wore, yet on her it seemed almost pleasant. "Can I see you again?"

"That depends, do you mean in person or from a distance?" She joked but he took a step forward, things suddenly seeming quite serious. Rosie looked up towards his dark face, her big green eyes looking the way that they always did, knowing and sharp. "Yes, you can. I read as I presume you write so… you know how to find me."

They walked a little further, side by side now, an understanding reached. When they reached her lodgings she put out her hand in the manner of how things were done man to man in Gentlemens clubs.

"Rosie Lane." She said at last, as both an introduction and a parting remark. Childermass took her hand in his and gave it a light shake, firm still.

"John Childermass."

For a moment, beneath the slightly shrouded moon they had regarded each other, their hands falling back to their sides.

"Well… goodnight then." She said merrily and he watched her disappear down the passageway and out of his sight. As always he waited and soon he saw a small light at one window as a curtain was drawn back and Rosie appeared. Looking up and down the street he knew she was searching for him, but he had made himself a shadow now and observed her from thus until she drew the curtain again. Then and only then, did he return home for the night.

"Childermass!" Norrell called from the other room and resigning himself to the next step towards returning English Magic to its former glory, he followed the voice and his service recommenced.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Seeing Norrell once more succumb to the small, venomous insinuation against Strange from the mouth of Henry Lascelles over a book selection irritated Childermass. Strange had not long been part of their small magical universe and yet it seemed than Lascelle was doing what he could to poison the well. But unlike his master, Jonathan Strange was not easily moulded and so none of Lascelle's flattery and bile mingled together could make the new magician dance to his tune. Only Norrell, the magician who did not want to be alone so accepted the society and terrible advice of such a scrawny, toxic individual. As Childermass was leaving the room following the discussion, Norrell had enquired,

"Where are you going, Childermass?"

"Out, sir." Had been his gruff rejoinder, he wasn't afraid of showing Norrell when he disagreed with him. There was a sneering look on Lascelle's face as he ventured.

"Just as well."

But Childermass said nothing to the vile fellow seated a little too casually and addressing Norrell once more before departing he merely said.

"I'll be back."

As he walked some forty minutes or so to where he had found her lodgings, Childermass for a time allowed his irritation to be put by the wayside and reminded himself that Rosie and he now shared the same city once more. It was a stranger to them both still, but at least they were in communion again. The row of small houses were all connected by an alleyway, each premises having its only tiny yard, just large enough to hang out washing. From the walls surrounding it sprang moss and weeds and yet Childermass was pleased that despite the closeness, there was not an unbearable smell. Ducking into the yard of Rosie's new home he found that there were two chairs and a table, aswell as a few other bits and pieces, stacked high. Each item still glistened from where it had been washed down and it was clear he had come at a time of industry. Walking inside he found a bed sheet and a few other linen items hung from wherever possible in the small kitchen.

"Rosie!" He called out, not wanting to startle her if he could help it.

"I'm coming!" She called from the small upstairs and he heard a scraping above him. Taking a moment, Childermass observed the benefits of her industry. On the small table opposite were some freshly cut vegetables and he saw she had even located a small but decent piece of meat. There were a few pots and crockery stacked neatly here and there but as his eyes moved around the room, one thing in particular caught his eye. Moving nearer he took up the bottle, pulling back the cork and taking a deep sniff. Childermass put it back where he had found it and soon he heard her footsteps descend with a great creak and groan of the ramshackled stairs. In truth he wished he could provide better for her than this, though it was still better than the swamp hole tenement buildings she lived in when he first got to know her.

She appeared with rosy red cheeks and tendrils of hair falling about her face, the clear indication of a morning's labour done vigorously. Childermass likened it to often how she might look as they laid side by side catching their breath, tangled together. Such thoughts were always pleasant to recall but his mind was focused on the bottle he had just discovered.

"You wouldn't have any matches would you?" She asked as though he had been stood there for two days rather than just arriving. Coming over, the bundle still between them, she did as much as she was able to reach his lips and kiss him lightly. "I'm going to burn this lot!"

Rosie had only arrived three days previous and he had only then spent fifteen minutes in her company, with the addition of Strange to Norrell's party, things were busier than ever.

"I have, somewhere in one of these pockets." He replied, the bottle still on his mind.

"I have slept in this parlour the last two nights, upstairs was a sight to behold, I'm burning this for I'm not sure if someone died up there." She laughed. "Took too long to get 'ere without bein' carried off."

Rosie did have a morbid sense of humour sometimes, he might have laughed more but instead he went back to the bottle and held it out to her. Rosie's eyes remarked the bottle of gin and then the look of deep seriousness on his face, yet surprisingly, her own expression did not change.

"It was a gift from Wessle as I left." She explained. "You can see it's still full… well almost…"

Here Rosie rolled up her sleeve and revealed what was a small but deep cut to her forearm, she'd covered it with a strip of material but it still had the angry freshness of being done recently.

"I put a bit on this when I did it… like I said, I've come this far… don't want to be carried off." She explained and came nearer to him. "I want you to take it away with you, drink it yourself if you like."

Childermass knew enough about people to sense when he was being lied to and he could see that Rosie wasn't. But now his attention went to the gash on her arm and he examined it more closely.

There had been occasions since the night he had walked her home from the Bull Inn where he had visited and passed his time in that back room, she being his main companion in and out. Then he would walk her home and easy conversations would pass between them. As time went on these grew to mean a lot to him and he found himself developing something deeper for her. Childermass continued on some nights to silently watch her from the shadows as his intuition told him there was something foreboding in the air about her, he imagined at the time it was that prowling fool.

Several times he had observed her walking home as she had that Christmas, her female friend and the prowler in tow, all equal on their path to intoxication. They would be arm in arm, swerving together and laughing over very little, but unlike his female counterparts, Childermass could see the planning in the man's eyes. When the frost and ice had surrounded Hurtfew again, trapping Childermass with his master for longer than he would like, he had resorted to his cards and focused on her. What he saw disturbed him, it seemed as though something was to swallow her up and potentially be a means of ruin. That night he had cared little for the ice, though his frustration at the longer time to get to York had rendered his mood so fierce, he was happy few came upon him. As he entered the Bull Inn there was no sign of her, he even without permission went to the back room but still nothing. At last he was accosted in the doorway by Isaac who after his usual patter made the passing comment that Rosie had not arrived, delivering to Childermass a cold sense of dread. Little caring for Wessle's descriptions of inconvenience on account of Rosie's absence, Childermass walked out and was upon her lodgings within minutes. No light was on and stalking down the passageway, his perception clear though he was not so to others, he was met with the smell of people and dirt and all that was unpleasant. From where her light sometimes had appeared he managed to locate which room would have been hers, it was in darkness. Feeling in his pockets, Childermass located his few matches and using all his skills from being a thief, he prised open the door. It gave way without any opposition and silently he stepped in, a noise immediately reached his ears and it relieved and disturbed him equally. The sound at first sounded like that of a light tapping or rattling, yet striking a match, its low flame seeming little use in the darkness of the room, he saw at the far end a bed. There was a small amount of movement with the rattling sound and as he approached he soon could make out a shape on the bed, huddled. Looking around he managed to find one low stump of candle and he lit it, taking the holder and raising it over the bed.

It was Rosie, the rattling noise being the chatter of her teeth and she was so bunched up, her body looked as though it were folded in two. Childermass leant over and touched her shoulder, giving her a light shake. His fingers were met with damp cloth and as he moved his hand down her arm he realised her clothes were soaking wet. Rosie was turned on her back in one swift move and he observed in the low light how deathly white her face was, even her lips had turned an unhealthy pallor and her body was shuddering so violently it must have been painful.

"Rosie?" He said, tapping her icy cheek with his hand, it was enough to make her eyes open a little, the sparkle of wit in her them lacking, instead they were only a dull green. Childermass left her and went to three other rooms in the tenement to locate more candles but the poverty he was met with could not help him, the odour and cramped nature of it causing him to withdraw. Childermass made short work of finding enough of what he needed in the streets nearby, he was efficient and fierce in his pursuit still none the wiser about what had happened.

When he returned, four or five candles were lit and he lifted her upper body to a slumped seating position, her limbs feeling like lead and her head drooped. Beside her on the bed he noticed, glimmering in the light was a small bottle, barely still full of liquid.

"Bloody stupid!" He growled under his breath, tapping her face again and lifting her chin. Surprisingly, Rosie succeeded in opening her eyes and she looked at him, her body still violently shaking. "You need to get out of these wet things."

With his assistance, she was able to strip away the dress though her state meant anything beyond that she was unable to do. From here he had to improvise, though he was hardly without experience and before long he had changed her from the sodden clothes she wore into the a cotton shift. From there he wrapped her in the meagre bed linen she had and could only watch as she struggled and shook. Yet with this he saw a little more colour come to her face and some clarity in her eyes and from where she lay she had watched him fighting the droop of her eyelids.

At once footsteps could be heard near her door and Childermass reeled around when the face of the other young woman Rosie often spent time with appeared. The woman's face was ghostly white and she looked from Childermass to the huddled Rosie in the bed.

"What have you done?" She asked.

"What have I done?" Childermass grated, "She's been in here drunk in soaking clothes."

"I heard she'd fallen into the river…" The woman continued. "Charlie said they were singing on the bridge and she fell in, she got herself out quick enough but… he must have just left her here."

"Then how do you know?"

"He was a little white in the Bull just now. I've just finished work."

"Make yourself useful and go and get a doctor!" Childermass had growled and the wide eyed young woman had left to do just that. Rosie's shudders were still there and he sat by the bed and put the back of his hand against her cheek. Her eyes opened again and she looked at him.

"Is there any left?" She stammered. "It's cold."

A more heartless man might have left her there… indeed one had and a sillier one might have fretted. But despite her words he found himself shifting her along the bed a little, he placing all his body but his boots on the bed beside her. Threading an arm beneath her neck and another over her waist, he pulled her back against his chest, hoping some warmth from himself might pass through to her. Though it had been some time since he had been this close to a woman, never had he had this under such circumstances. The curve of her frame slotted well against his large, lean one. He felt every tremor, ever heaving breath and eventually, he felt a slightly warmer hand of hers come up to take one of his, then and only then, did she fall asleep. Strangely, when she had seemed in less danger, Childermass had felt those few minutes had been almost pleasant. Beneath that current state was someone he was growing to know with a deep interest and all this somehow had not seemed like her. During the years he had noticed her he had seen her work hard to avoid having to take the occasional man for payment, she worked two jobs and now was trapping herself in the solace of gin. There had been more to her than that, he knew about these things. Childermass had been right.

When the sound of the girl and the doctor arriving reached his ear, he gently released her from his grasp and stealthily made his way out. Ironically, sometime later, Charlie Baynes had found himself a victim of a fall, he had been told many times about taking too much drink and being too merry on icy nights. Fate intervened in the form of a shadow to ensure he learnt his lesson, a mild lesson, only a broken arm, but as with all lessons, there is a degree of pain.

Now Rosie dragged a chair back inside and placed it in the smaller front room where a fire blazed and Childermass took it up. After lighting his pipe, he handed over the matches and Rosie busied herself in the kitchen bringing him through a few slices of cold meat and pickled vegetables. Wiping her hands on the apron she wore, she then untied it and laid it on a low table.

"It will come up fine by tomorrow." She explained with a smile, she had tucked some loose tendrils behind her ears. "How do you like London life?"

Childermass shifted a little and this was an invitation for her to come and sit on his knee and she did just that. The chair beneath them creaked and grated but this was ignored. Threading an arm around his shoulders, she watched him put the pipe down and rest one arm over her lap. Out of habit she now brushed some of his loose hair from his face and for a moment it was like they were back in York.

"Mr Norrell has a new pupil."

"Is he aware that he already has one?" She laughed.

"What I pick up from him we don't discuss." Childermass said ruefully. "But he's finding it difficult to share his resources."

"I am surprised you never told me of all this before you came here."

"Mr Norrell expects a degree of privacy."

"He's hired no one better then."

"Hmmm." Childermass grumbled. "There's other people have his ear as well as me now."

"This new magician?"

"No… well Mr Strange has indeed become a friend to Mr Norrell but no… someone who wants the fame Norrell brings him but no skill other than to give useless advice."

"I'm sure you don't mince your words, however many men are present?" Rosie chuckled and Childermass now felt those delicate fingers begin to stroke and massage the back of his neck where his hair was tied. As always, Childermass emitted a low, contented groan at her work and his greedy arms wrapped about her waist almost possessively. "Give him good council, even if it's not what he wants to hear."

Childermass took in Rosie's last few words but his mind moved to the warm, beautiful woman sat on his lap and how much he had missed the presence of her there. Soon his mouth sought hers out and the ravenous fingers held handfuls of the fabric of her dress. Rosie wrapped her arms tight about his neck and drew him in all the closer, gasping a little when his kisses and cheek stubble dragged across her jawline and throat.

"What did I do before I had this?" She sighed thickly, her voice close to his ear and it sparked a new wave of hungry intention within him. Though for a fleeting moment he imagined her again in a drunken stupor, falling from the edge of a bridge and a shuddering form next to him in her hideous tenement. She asked the question, but indeed what did he do before Norrell and herself? He had not cared, that was the truth, he merely was. Magic had given him the hunger and the skills, she had given him the hunger of another kind, the kind that needs the closeness of another person in a manner which suited him. The chair groaned again a his hands became more determined, reaching for the buttons of her dress as he continued his assault on her senses and she laughed.

"I've nowhere to have you." She giggled. "I don't think this chair can carry your will."

A rarely seen smile appeared on Childermass' face, his eyes dark with intent, for a long moment they looked at one another before his lips sought hers with more ferocity again. It had been too long. John Childermass had a history of finding a means to a way in all areas of his life; indeed it had built him a career as a child thief through to his work with Norrell. Now he was to utilise his ingenuity for much more carnal purposes, for nothing right now would interrupt his communion with the woman he loved.


	5. Chapter 5

" _I wish I'd never come to London. I wish i'd never under taken to restore English magic! I should have stayed at Hurtfew reading and doing spells for my own pleasure. None of it is worth the loss of forty books!"_

Rosie's fingers slid through the dark, auburn hair like scissors cutting fabric in one clean move. She would begin at the scalp, massaging the skin with her gifted yet laboured hands. Every sensation of the fingertips worked to unknot the tension caused by ill health and unrest in her patient. The tears had passed, the woman's chest did not quite heave as it did before, indeed she was quieter now. The fingers worked on, skimming from root to tip before returning every few strokes to attend the scalp once more. She was creating a hypnotic pattern beneath her hands. Yet though her ministrations were slowly working, the body leant against her was still tense and fighting the urge to give in to the comfort she offered.

Rosie was doing all she could to ease the burden of this woman, who now nearing her time was wrought with the affliction of an absent husband and a baby that raged inside her causing her to often be ill. Isa had a pale pallor and shadows under her eyes, yet somehow it seemed the lustrous hair, now calmed into submission by Rosie's attention still kept some life yet. From the shadows Childermass watched her work her own kind of magic on this woman, the kind found in the heart not books, the kind that was not to be championed by many in the world. Indeed he had kept watch over Rosie since finding her half frozen on her lowly bed. Now here she was attending to a poor woman only a few doors down. Isa's own state did not command too much of Childermass' attention, he only looked upon her to see the work of Rosie. This remarkable young woman, still not long in full health herself sensed that Isa was not quite at relenting to rest as of yet and soon the soft, smooth tones of her singing voice quietly filled the room.

 _Come all you fair and tender girls,_

 _That flourish in your prime._

 _Beware, beware._

 _Keep your garden fair._

 _Let no man steal your thyme._

 _Let no man steal your thyme._

Rosie's voice was like a soothing balm, somewhere he had heard said that the singing voice was the emblem of the soul. Childermass did not believe such nonsense, but a voice like Rosie's could well convert a legion to thinking so.

 _For when your thyme is past and gone,_

 _He'll care no more for you._

 _And every place_

 _Where your thyme was waste_

 _Will all spread over with rue_

 _Will all spread over with rue._

As she sang the fingers worked now at creating a braid using six or seven sections, her hands working like the loom that was being heralded as the devil here abouts. Somehow she held sections until it was their time between her fingers and gradually she wove a pattern like the scales of a fish into Isa's hair, keeping the pace steady and gentle as she sang.

 _The gardener's son was standing by_

 _Three flowers he gave to me._

 _The pink, the blue,_

 _And the violet true._

 _And the red, red rosy tree_

 _And the red, red rosy tree._

Isa's head drooped forward just a little and snapped back just as quickly, fighting the sleep that had been denied her these last nights. Childermass watched as Rosie unwove some of the fish scale threads and then softly began again, still singing.

 _But I refused the red rose bush_

 _And gained the willow tree_

 _Now all the world_

 _Can plainly see_

 _How my love slighted me._

 _How my love slighted me._

Isa's head drifted back, the weight of it becoming heavier in Rosie's hands, the temple resting against her waist as she stood working. Gently, Rosie took the upper body weight of Isa in her arms and slowly laid her on the low ticking bed. All around spoke of the bare poverty of the tenement, the smell was unmistakable, yet the look on Isa's face now could not have been serener than the monarch himself as he slept. Seating herself for a few minutes, Rosie waited and watched the heavily pregnant woman then seeming satisfied she moved away and tidied the few possessions of this woman into some semblance of order. As this was done, so was Rosie's work and she moved quietly to the door, taking one look back at the sleeping Isa before stealing out.

The night after this was the first time Childermass had kissed Rosie, though there were a handful of memories he could recall of observing her offering the little comfort she was able to others. Isa herself had gone on to need her more and when her time came, Rosie and another local woman who knew about birthing stood in the poverty stricken room and helped bring the defiant boy into the world. That twelve hours had remained with Rosie even to the present day that he knew her, it caused one haunted line to faintly spread upon her forehead as no other care had ever shown itself. Yet that first sight of her lacing Isa's hair and giving up the skills she had to bring some small comfort showed no carelessness towards life, though Rosie was no saint herself and had then still been prone to the weakness of believing drink to be a comfort when required. Though no longer did she make merry in a drunken stupor with false friends, only steal away moments of solitude in the dimness of her own rooms to while away a streak of sorrow she could not help but bare. Despite all this though, he had admired how self pity did not rule the kingdom of her existence, for he had seen her rise from having to take the odd man home to earn a living to working and fighting for her own small life in the city of York. That, more than anything is how he found himself attached to her and taking her into his own life thereafter. Kissing her on the very bridge where had fallen only months previous in her inebriation. It wasn't beyond him to become fond of people now and then, he was a closed book but far from stone, it only took something unique and prevalent to command his attention enough to root fast in dedication. So far only magic had seized him thus, though she had long intrigued him as his feelings manoeuvred themselves to allow her a fixed place in his mind and heart.

When Jonathan Strange was sent to the Peninsula and Gilbert Norrell had won his books, there was a time of brief ease in the house and for several weeks, Childermass was able to come and go as he pleased. Their shared life in London was a far contrast from how it had been in York, first her rotten tenement and then the boarding house he aided her in affording after much heated discussion. Rosie had had her pride after all, but another brief relapse of a chill from her poor lodgings made her see things from his point of view. Now though, in this new bustling city so far from home they had a new shared confine when he was at liberty, they could even walk some places together in the privacy of anonymity.

Childermass recounted the amusement of seeing how flustered Norrell had been at Jonathan Strange's taking off with forty of his books. He had never spoken of Norrell to anyone before either in graveness or in humour, yet his dry, gruff recounting of Norrell watching Strange leave accompanied by his quiet complaints was a tale worth sharing. It worked, for Rosie had laughed as they had walked that first free evening following Strange's departure, the stars above them clean and visible.

"Will he go back to Hurtfew?" Rosie asked.

"I do not believe that is his path yet, and I doubt Lascelles and Drawlight will release their conniving grip on him." Childermass replied, guiding her past a rowdy looking crowd with a light touch to her elbow.

"Do you not ever feel tempted to join forces with Strange if their friendship should sour?"

"Mr Norrell and I are bound together on this path for the future I can see at the present."

"That's very mysterious, John." She laughed, linking her arm through his. "You sound quite serious."

"Magic is back in England, Norrell is trying to funnel it his way…" His voice trailed off and his words, usually so measured stopped and he considered. This was a thing few people saw, for generally when Childermass spoke, he had conviction in the words he imparted. Idle chit chat was not part of his makeup.

"Your loyalty to it will keep you right." She said, nudging him back to attention with a light gesture of her elbow.

"You said _it_ , not _he_." Childermass said ruefully.

"That is because I so happen to have been listening to you all this time, John." She replied playfully. "I would have been bad company otherwise."

Times like this as he looked at her, reminded in of that quiet night on the bridge, how he had imparted in his own shadowed yet direct way some of his feeling for her. Rosie had stood and merely looked upon him as she did now, with an open temperament and welcoming gaze, the green of her eyes daring him to dive deeper into it. How could anyone say those eyes were mistrustful? His larger hands had circled her waist and drawing her close they had looked at each other a long moment, the moon shrouded behind thicker cloud and yet they saw each other plainly. There had been the time to relent, at last he had kissed her in a solitary moment of shared understanding and contentment between them. Now under the starry skies of London, he found himself remarking her with a similar stroke of fondness, he was always fond of her, loved her to be sure, but at times it could hit him so poignantly. It was always a private tenderness, an intense flush of feeling that rarely rose to his face but he owned none the less. Rosie was good for him, something of his hidden behind the magic yet with its own every day greatness, a thing not to be underestimated.

"You have a very fierce look on your face, Mr Childermass." She interjected, his silence having being a little too long as he looked at her. It was not the done thing in London society to kiss someone with affection or otherwise in the street, yet Childermass drew her off suddenly down a side street. Muttering something under his breath he seized her face passionately between his hands and proceeded to kiss her as he had that first night and many nights since. But only sometimes did some kisses betray a side of him so usually shrouded in a sense of mystery even to her. No moment between them went by when she wasn't aware of the fondness of his regard for her, but still there were times when the full depths of it could be revealed to her at odd moments. It was intoxicating and she was swept up within it like a powerful side along a shore. In their times together, they clung together, one way or another. Free to move as their own yet bound by a deep affection.

There was no way to marry her in all this and oddly to him at least, she had never enquired about it, she seemed to understand. His cards had told him enough over the years, however much Norrell disregarded them, then there had been Vinculus and the arrival of Jonathan Strange. Magic was taking a turn in England and how it would end Childermass was uncertain at this time. Yet the anxiety hidden in his master's eyes that he saw plainly and the events building around them were clear enough. One day perhaps he could marry her, yet until that day, she would never ask.


	6. Chapter 6

The quiet of the night was cut short by an insistent banging on Rosie's door, its rapping commencing three or four times before she was roused from sleep. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her eyes hurriedly, the noise of the banging below startling her. It was such a rude awakening for such an hour and certainly it had better be worth it. Rosie's day had been long, she had found herself walking here and there looking for work, it had almost proven fruitless. As she neared the door, candle in hand she called out.

"Yes?"

"It's me." Childermass' voice replied and immediately she felt a mixture of relief and surprise. Pulling back the latch and unlocking the door, Childermass' dark form became visible. Rosie stepped back into the kitchen, the flickering of the candle sending shadows dancing around the room, Childermass himself looking like the largest of all. For a moment he said nothing, but she could tell from the look on his face that all was not right. Was he checking up on her or had something bad happened at the house?

"You well?" he asked, coming past her and taking out his matches to light another candle. Over his shoulder was a small bag stuffed full of something or other.

"Not so bad." Rosie replied, "Though you gave me a start."

"I was… I suppose you could say I was in the neighbourhood."

Placing the bag on the table he came towards her, bending to kiss the top of her head. His lips were cold, he'd been nowhere in this neighbourhood to be sure. Childermass placed the bag on the table.

"Have you eaten?" Rosie asked. "I've got some pork pie."

"Thank you." He replied and then regarding her in the candle light continued, "You look tired?"

"I was asleep." she laughed, her head still feeling a little foggy from the depth of it. Moving to the cupboard, she took out the plate with the last of the pork pie and handed it to him. Childermass took up one of the chairs and began to consume it in large mouthfuls. As Rosie watched him, she sensed that the speed of his eating was not so much from hunger as from a slight agitation. It was not like him to show such things, he was rather a closed book, but there was something eating at him. Rosie's eyes moved to the rather full bag nearby, Childermass seemed to ignore its presence despite being close to his elbow. The bulk was large but not burdensome, it filled out the sack yet barely sagged.

"What's in there, John?"

His head turned a little so he could view the bag from the corner of his eye but he shrugged off the question and continued to eat. Irked by the response, Rosie took herself upstairs to fetch a shawl and pull on a pair of wool socks, the cold having now nipped too long at her bare feet. In the small, square mirror that hung slightly crooked on the wall she looked at herself. Two dark circles were under each of her eyes and the plait of her hair had started to fray in her sleep. Smoothing any stray hairs from around her face she wrapped the shawl tight about her and descended the stairs, each creak giving her away. To her surprise, Childermass had finished and was making up the kitchen fire. Rosie remained on the last step watching his industry, he hardly seemed to notice she had come back down whilst he worked. When the flames licked contentedly at the fuel, he stood up and dusted off his hands. Rosie went to move his plate but he caught her wrist and turned her to look at him.

"I'm not sure what I have got in there." he explained, his voice low as though anyone could risk hearing them. Taking the bag, he pulled out a large stretch of fabric and spread it across the table. The light from the fire and the candle illuminated the contents enough and Rosie's eyes skimmed over the content. She saw figures made of fabric, all of them mingling together assumedly in some meaning. When Rosie could not quite fathom it, she looked to Childermass but scrutiny and confusion was written on his dark brow. There was something about the picture that unnerved Rosie, she didn't like it at all.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, he said nothing. "John."

"I acquired it on behalf of Mr Norrell."

"You stole it?"

"I was a thief, remember." Childermass replied with a hint of scorn. "You know that well enough."

"I wasn't aware Mr Norrell needed you for that."

"These days he needs me for a good many things." Childermass mumbled, his eyes continuing to study the work, his mind worked to decipher its meaning but he got nowhere. Finally, he stuffed it into the bag impatiently once more. Childermass was unsettled all the more now and despite his tone, Rosie's heart went out to him a little and she touched his shoulder.

"You are doing your duty, John."

"I do not like being kept in the dark." Childermass explained, "He shrouds himself in secrets…"

Rosie pushed him down onto a chair and moved to pull another nearby, but again she found her hand caught and her body pulled onto his knee. Rosie sat there whilst he mused, the silence in the room growing larger by the minute and she felt herself growing drowsy again. Her temple rested against his head and the heaviness of her eyelids grew until they could remain open no longer. It wasn't long until she felt herself lifted up and Childermass carried her back to her bed, placing her down gently in the hope of not waking her. As he moved to leave, her eyes opened a little and she called after him.

"Wait!" she murmured and he turned around to look at her, "What are you going to do?"

"What I was asked…" Childermass said gently, "Otherwise why did I do it?"

Rosie reached out a hand and he came forward and took it in his, she gave it a light squeeze as she yawned.

"Don't let him make you a thief again." Her voice was thick with drowsiness, but her meaning was clear, "You left that life… like I left mine."

"I won't."

Childermass sat on the edge of her bed, still holding her hand in both of his and he waited for her to go back to sleep. Part of him aside from being tired, wished to stay the night for in truth, he felt a sense of guilt and anger at his actions of this evening. Norrell should not have asked him to do it, but his master was clammed up beyond comprehension recently. The soft sound of her breathing exposed her slumber at last and he looked at the welcoming space beside her, his punishment for the act he had done earlier. His body ached from the cold walk and coming to terms with the return journey he must now make he stood up. Carefully he made his way down the stairs and into the welcoming glow of the fire again. Looking all around, he surveyed her little life here; he had found her a decent place at least. That was something in all of this; she had a better quality of life. With this in mind, he couldn't help but make a quick scan of her few cupboards and collections of jars and bottles. Childermass wasn't quite sure what he expected to find for there was no evidence like times of old, yet he still had to check.

There had been a time, the first time when he had been watching her pull up her wool stockings and smooth down the skirt of her dress, that things had begun to change. That cascade of dark hair, slightly dishevelled and luscious hanging over her shoulders and her cheeks still rosy and glowing from their time together. Rosie had lain on the top of his arm and shoulder for the longest time, first as they regained their breath, then as they stared at the wooden ceiling, time flowing past without hurry. Even now he could remember the stiff ache in that arm after she had moved to dress herself but how the absence of her there could be felt far more poignantly.

Once, many years before he'd met her, another girl has lain beside him just the same, but she had clung to him, buried herself so far into his side it was as though she were attempting to burrow beneath his flesh. Yet as the blood had returned to his arm, his skin tingling and pricking as Rosie redressed that first time, everything was so different. She had been due at her work near on the hour that was approaching and she had laughed as she dressed herself, giggled as she had fixed her hair and no doubt ran all the way there chuckling. That same evening, he had found her at the Inn a little later rushed off her feet, smiling and singing. Looking across the crowded room he had seen Charlie Baynes observing her. Indeed, looking around he noticed for the first time how many men took to observing her. Something had changed however, the work, the room, the drink seemed second now to Rosie, she was above taking it all to heart somehow.

As Childermass left her house with his stolen wears, he always remembered that sight of her, the looking above things as the means to an end. That's what this one act had to be, the means to an end, a means towards furthering English magic and maybe, the truth.


	7. Chapter 7

The weeks passed and summer began to slide towards cooler climes. Rosie had no word from Childermass during this time, he did not visit and nor did he write. A six week duration without him was the longest she had gone without sight or sound of him in the past, but when the eighth week rolled in, she began to feel perturbed. The first weeks had been easy to bear for she had found herself work at last in a wash house. It was not nice work, the hours were long and gruelling, but without it she would not be surviving now. The starch and hot water took its toll on the skin of her hands and she had had to begin buying a greasy like cream which was far from cheap to ease the chapping soreness. The rent on their house was high too and it took the last of her savings to pay the next few weeks. It was disconcerting to think that when she had last seen him, his employer had had him stealing again and now he was nowhere to be found. This boded ill if ever she had sense.

By the ninth week, exhausted and anxious, she found herself tempted by the days of old, the solace of a bottle. With a few coins going spare she bought herself enough to warm her for a night or so, though she knew full well it would do her no good long term. As she sat nursing it, the cork having fallen from her knee and rolled out of sight, she tried to cajole herself to drink. Memories from the past swung back and forth like a pendulum, her friends Kitty and Charlie's gay laughter as they all shared swigs from the same bottle. The songs, the warmth and all that blocked the hollowness of her life in poorer times flooded back, but then came his face. That face that held that look whenever he caught sight of a bottle in her midst, it was somewhere in between concern and disappointment. It was a look she hated to see written across Childermass' face. Now he would seem so again, yet was this not his doing? This was not her city, these were not her people and unlike he, she had no conviction to be here… or had she? Only him… indeed always him. Yet where was he? The bottle remained in her hand, a comfortable habit of old, yet as the night passed she drank not a drop and come the dawn of Sunday she tipped it into the yard once more. That was the best place for it, he knew it and so did she.

Rosie decided to use her Sunday off to track him down. This had never been an action she had taken before, for it was not something she agreed with in principle. But desperate times called for desperate measures and that is what she was becoming. Rising early, she set off in the dim light and cool breeze to Hanover Square where she had heard Mr Norrell resided. It wasn't difficult to find with all the fame that surrounded him, but gaining access to such a place and presenting herself was far more difficult. Deciding best to use the servant's entrance, Rosie went around the back of the house to where she supposed the kitchen door would be. Surprisingly, two young maids were seated on the back step sharing a small freshly baked fruit loaf. They remarked her as she came forward, wearing her best dress, a deep bottle green colour with a decent enough cut. It made her look respectable but by no means fancy; Childermass had said it was the sort of thing a woman could 'hold her own in'. So he had said when she had shown him it the first time anyway. Coming forward the nerves ran within her and she wondered if her voice would carry enough to form a sentence.

"Can we help you, miss?" One of the maids asked, standing up and coming over to her, wiping her hands on her apron. It was a kind tone.

"Is this the house of Gilbert Norrell?" She asked.

"It is." The second maid answered, observing her with a little more suspicion than the first. Rosie was determined to pay no heed to such a look; it was natural after all given the man's reputation.

"I was looking for Mr Childermass?"

The two maids looked at one another strangely, the first then turning to Rosie and edging a little nearer.

"May I ask who is asking, miss?"

Rosie swallowed hard, the worry written in this maid's face concerning her greatly.

"I am a friend from Yorkshire; I came to pay my respects for it has been some time."

"He's indisposed, miss." The second explained, coming forward suddenly and with far more assertiveness than the other. "You will not be able to see him today."

"Are you not all to church this morning?" Rosie asked.

"All except the master and his party." The second continued, seeming to lose patience at the sight of Rosie, but she had walked all this way and would not be put off.

"I would be grateful if you would go up and tell him I am here, he may at least have a message for me."

The second began to move back towards the house, but the first called after her.

"Dido, wait!" Dido turned and looked at the other, "I'll see to this."

Dido moved into the house and Rosie saw her no more, the young woman remaining took her by the hand and led her to the step where they sat together.

"I'm Hannah, miss." She explained kindly once more, "Mr Childermass cannot see you for he is resting following an accident."

"An accident?" Rosie gasped.

"Yes, miss." Hannah replied, not forthcoming with any more information than that. Rosie felt acutely the fear for Childermass' wellbeing, but after a moment she composed herself.

"Would it be possible for me to see him?"

"Mr Norrell spends a good deal of time with Mr Childermass, he was very agitated when it occurred."

Rosie hoped indeed he was though she had no idea what had really occurred. SAomething far more amiss had occurred here, she was sure of it. But there would be nothing that this sweet faced young maid could tell her.

"Is he confined to bed?" Rosie asked.

"No, miss." Hannah replied kindly, her hand resting upon Rosie's again to offer some comfort, "The incident happened last week…. Mr Childermass is still recommended rest by the doctor."

Considering for a moment, Rosie decided she could not leave the house without at least trying once more for an opportunity to see him. It was a dangerous idea to try it in the eyes of all those of the house but distracted by worry she could not in all conscience return home yet.

"Would you tell him I am here… if he could come down for only a moment…"

Sensing her anxiety, Hannah's hand once more squeezed Rosie's and the young maid chewed her lip a moment in deliberation. As though a thunderbolt then hit her, she turned suddenly with a sense of almost excitement and began to tell of it.

"We have a boot polishing room, miss… if you have no objection to waiting in there, I could have him come down without too much trouble."

"Thank you, Hannah;" Rosie replied gratefully, "I have no objection in the least."

Whilst all the staff readied themselves to be off to church, Rosie was lead to the boot room by Hannah. The young maid then disappeared elsewhere to fetch Childermass. As voices passed the door and footsteps were heard, Rosie feared someone higher in the household would come upon her. Thankfully in this household, none of the higher class occupants went to church so would not need their fine boots today. As the house settled somewhat, Rosie moved to the small, dirty window that was at neck level and looked out, there was nothing in particular to observe but it passed the endless wait.

As last she heard light footsteps coming towards the door and soon Hannah reappeared.

"Sorry, miss. I had to wait until Mr Norrell and Mr Lascelles were in conversation. Mr Childermass will be down soon, he knows you are here but I must be off."

Rosie took Hannah's hands in her own out of extreme gratitude and utter several hurried thanks to the pretty, young maid. When they parted, Rosie's stomach fluttered with an acute agitation as everything came upon her at once. This was a far cry from their old life to be sure, things were turning dark and sour in her mind.

At last a heavier tread could be heard coming down the quiet corridor and soon the door knob turned and he appeared. He was dressed in his usual garb and aside from being a little paler than usual, he looked no different. The sight of him almost made her forget herself with want to rush over and fling her arms about him. But she had to keep a lid on things, this had only occurred last week and yet he had been absent for weeks. Childermass took a moment to scan her from tip to toe, clearly checking if anything was amiss. The dark circles under her eyes and her paled skin from a sleepless night could not escape his notice. Yet in all other ways she was well enough to outward appearances.

But Rosie looked him over too, he did not walk with any limp, he bore no scars, grazes or cuts. He was as well as she it appeared.

"Did you hurt your feet, John?" Rosie asked, he took a step further into the room and closed the door. "Or your hands perhaps?"

"Neither." He replied, seeming to wait for her to continue, he must know she was angry.

"Then were your fingers merely to dainty to write all of a sudden? It would've been prudent." Rosie tried to be curt but part of the relief of seeing him again in one piece after what she had been told made things difficult.

"Things have got rather busy here…" Childermass stopped and listened about, he was statuesque until satisfied they were still in private, "Things have happen'd."

"I am aware, but not one word from you seems a little ungallant." Rosie continued and seeing there was no apology in the offing, she would merely ascertain his health for her piece of mind and be gone. "You're better?"

"The bullet is out, the rest will heal." Childermass said slowly, knowing how his words would be received. Rosie's expression changed, her brow knitted in confusion and concern, anger quite gone for the moment.

"Bullet?"

"Yes, someone shot at Mr Norrell, I stepped in," he explained, "They're saying it was a French spy."

Rosie knew immediately that the talk of others clearly differed from what Childermass confronted and once more, anger born from worry rose up within her.

"And what actually happened?"

Childermass said nothing; he only came a little nearer with the intent of taking her by the shoulders. Rosie shrugged him off in annoyance and considered a moment. Generally, Childermass was not prone to impatience but this scene could not be done here, anyone could come after him to find what he was about. He did not want this part of his life exposed.

"Does this have anything to do with that tapestry you stole?" she asked, turning and looking him square in the eye, her pupils large and brilliant. When he did not answer again she grew furious. "John!"

"I am not doin' this now, it's no good carrying on so!"

His words silenced her, but she was by no means appeased, her body trembled with outrage yet she uttered nothing. Turning her back to him again, she rubbed her eyes which were sore and heavy from the previous night and suddenly she wished she were back in York again. Her free hand was taken in one of his and slowly she was turned to face him. But when her eyes were prepared to meet his, she found him examining the rough skin on her palm and fingers.

"What have you been doin'?" he asked.

"Workin' John, like you."

"For how long?"

"Weeks at a wash house, I can't live on fresh air you know… I have to work."

"Has it really been that long?" Childermass asked, realising indeed how long an absence it must have been, especially since he often brought provision, though he had not on his last visit.

"I did not come here for that," Rosie said, drawing her hand back to her side, "Merely out of concern. I can see to the rest myself."

"Not in that way, it's bloody slave's work!" Childermass grated but he stopped himself further and drawing in a breath his tone return to its usual drawl. "I'll be by tonight with money; I'll stay to all told."

"How much longer would you have left it had I not come?" Rosie asked honestly, "Are you really that taken up with it all? If so then I should be back to York until you are done here."

Childermass took her hand again in a manner of one who might be about to give an oath.

"I'll come tonight."

At first she did not believe him, but the seriousness of his expression persuaded her otherwise. When they parted Rosie had the relief of his well being, but both of them had many questions. Only for Childermass, not Rosie, nor Norrell and not even his cards could tell him the answers he sought.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A.N Hello! To any readers, my apologies for my absence in posting but I am back. I increased this rating to an M mainly for this chapter and who knows perhaps further in the future. Though I allude to a lot of things in previous chapters, I didn't want every chapter to have smut as I feel it loses impact. But this part of the story felt necessary to describe some of the more M rated antics of the characters. I only hope it does them justice. As always reviews, follows and faves make my day so to those of you who have, merci beaucoup you're wonderful and to anyone who may do in the future, you're fabulous!**_

Childermass arrived as promised that evening, as Rosie heard the church nearby strike nine, the rapping of his hand at her door came soon after. The man had a key, yet he always knocked like any guest. It was a strange sort of gallantry for a man with a past like his, but then even thieves had a code of conduct. Rosie had been preoccupied all day and though she knew she would see the wound for herself soon enough, his arrival made her all the more impatient. Guessing his imminent arrival, she had contrived filling her large tin bath and had been boiling water for the last hour. Childermass stepped in, his cheeks oddly pinched with colour from the cold. Her anger at his absence still simmered, he knew that well enough, but despite all of Rosie's frustration towards him, she was happy he was here.

The bath was large enough for them both to settle in and as they stood by it, the steam from the fresh, warm water rose in misty curls and dissipated. They undressed idly, Rosie's hands reached immediately for his shirt buttons and his hands dropped to their sides as she undid them, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. Right now, building desire by undressing him was not her aim; she was searching for the wound. Childermass still wore a dressing but it was less of a necessity now for Norrell had had a doctor examine it several times and assure them both that all was as it should be. Peeling back the cotton, Rosie took a look at the stitching; the flesh still flushed but was healing.

"You're a bloody idiot, John." Rosie exclaimed at the sight of it, her fingers gently brushing over the rough stitching. It had been done by the finest Norrell could find she was sure, but the sight of it irked her beyond belief. To put himself in such a position, whatever the incident had to do with magic was ridiculous in her eyes. The skin of his chest and arms was ghostly white, for a man with such dark hair and eyes, he was incredibly fair. Leaning forward, Rosie pressed a kiss to the wound, remaining there a long moment, her hands holding Childermass' as she did so. The sigh that escaped her lips made him witness to the full extent of her anxiety in recent weeks, the revelation of his accident only heightening it. His lips sought her forehead and he kissed it, then unthreading his hands from hers they came up to cup her cheeks. When he kissed her, he felt each of her eyes betray a single tear. They slowly slid over her smooth cheeks and the salty taste of them soon spread on his lips. Pulling back a little he murmured close to her face.

"I did magic, Rosie… Norrell knows."

"Much good it did you." She replied sombrely.

"I saved his life."

"Would he do the same for you?" she asked and for a moment his eyes only looked into hers, saying nothing. Rosie saw the answer there and she laughed. "No, he would not."

Childermass remembered only a few years earlier in York when Rosie's spirits has been particularly fired up by drink. She had staggered into the public house and sang to the crowd until her voice was raw, supping the stuff that had done her no favours in the past until her words were slurred and she struggled to sing. It had been some time since she had got herself into a state such as that and it was fortuitous that it happened on a night when Childermass had come to visit her. Having not found her either in her lodgings nor her regular haunts, he had looked far and wide until he found her revelling amongst strangers. Rosie had seemed to banish any care, even for her own person and merely felt herself a vessel for merriment for the pleasure of others. Once coaxing her outside, he had stood whilst she had vomited violently two or three times, yet she was silent. Whatever had prompted this episode baffled him, but he was a man who had to know the root of a thing. What he was not told he surmised for himself. Yet on this point Rosie had clammed up, even to this day she had never told him how she had reached such a stupor, but afterwards she had faithfully promised not to repeat it. Nor had she for that had been the day Rosie had made the bargain to both herself and him that she would no longer drink.

Now as he looked into her eyes, he recognised the same feeling which he had looked at her that few years ago. It was looking at someone not knowing what had brought them to such a point and fearing where else the current would take them should they continue. There would never be a time where Rosie would ask him to renounce what he was doing and leave Norrell or indeed magic behind. She loved him enough to know she must love this part of him. Were it not for the shooting, she would've been proud that he was bold in displaying the magic he knew and not hiding in the wings of Norrell's glory. But Rosie loved the man, not the magic and it was hard at times for her to watch the future of magic engulf him. When cooped up with Norrell at Hurtfew it seemed a pipe dream, though she always hoped for his sake that the time for magic would come. But now it was here, it was not as clear cut as she imagined.

There was more to say but that was for later, settling together in the water, he seated in front of her they allowed the warmth to envelop them. Their bodies relaxed and melded together and she carefully washed his chest and arms, her movements as hypnotic as ever. When her hands moved to his scalp, Childermass fell under the bewitchment of her fingertips, coaxed to the brink of slumber several times. They stroked back and forth across the skin of his scalp, the roots of his hair tingled with stimulation. Sometimes she circled and dragged her nail ends with delicious dexterity to the base of his ears and tickled his neck. There was nowhere else in the world where he felt so at peace. Magic ran in his veins and now was its time, but there was nothing like her, Rosie was her own breed of magic. In that moment he felt every inch of her around him, the feel of her legs against his, the swell of her breasts pressed against his back and the faint beat of her heart against his skin. Childermass felt as possessed as when he had used Belasis Scopus. Finding a sense of clarity born from passionate love he rose from the water suddenly, jerking Rosie in shock. Helping her up he found himself lifting her from the bath and placing her down on the soft rug before the fire and began kissing her wildly. Their bodies were still dripping wet from their submergence and each felt consumed by a heat that did not derive from the water.

Childermass' lips were everywhere, destroying any barriers that still kept her from him due to anger or hurt. In truth, holding him as she had, Rosie had forgotten the hurt some time before, but his onslaught was determined to banish any final shreds. Her fingers threaded in his hair and tugged at the scalp as his actions made her arch and writhe beneath him. But Rosie was not a woman to submit without a thought, any choice to be with him was not purely because he could render her senseless. She may have had a weakness for drink in the past, but a feeble woman she was not. Her pull on his hair dragged his face close to hers and she kissed him deeply, demanding and somewhat brutal in her action. When his face was close to hers, locked in bruising kisses she pulled back and pushed him away saying firmly.

"Not here!"

She rose to her feet and moved towards the stairs, disappearing into the rooms above, insisting his company and he followed. Once finding her upon the bed again, she pushed him onto his back and proceeded to move above him in a wilfully passionate pace, daring him to look at her except when her eyes happened to gaze upon the wound. Here her ferocity seemed to increase and soon she set such a brutal pace that he would be undone in no time at all. The insistent urge of her hips flung him towards the oblivion she always brought him too, though this was the first time he had seen her so unfledged in her boldness to usurp his control. It had always been a natural meeting of equals in their passion, but now she was showing him, reminding him in the best way she could that he needed her. For did she not care for him the most, love him the most and absorb him in a way that no Mistress Magic could ever do? Magic may be his earthly life but she would show herself to be his soul.

Her cries rose as she moved and she was becoming as undone as he, yet try as he might, he could not urge himself to alter how they were now. There was something in this new sense of abandon, this defiant spirit that she showed that he would not quell for the world. There was as much as witch about this woman who knew no magic as any he had ever heard of. It was her mere person that bewitched him, full of faults and vulnerabilities as she was. Yet she claimed his own and loved him nonetheless.

When all was over between them, she lay limp and boneless on his chest. In those last moments where their pleasure was peaking she had crushed her lips to his, their final cries muffled between them. Now she lay panting for breath as he too tried to regulate his own. His mind returned to that moment where he conjured Belasis Scopus and all at once he wished she had seen him. How he wanted somehow for there to be a time when the two great things in his life could co-exist. That seemed a far off possibility at the moment. Childermass thought of Jonathan Strange and how he had Arabella waiting for him always, regardless of magic. In that moment, he felt a twinge of envy that was unlike him. Though an apprentice, Strange was a man of means and Childermass now saw, a man as skilled as his own master. Here it appeared their positions were poles apart as unlike Strange, Childermass was slowly building his own moments, but now was not the time for them to unify.

After some time Rosie moved her face from the crook of his shoulder and looked at him and Childermass gently pushed stray, rebellious tendrils from her face. His dark eyes observed as her as though for the first time and as if he had known her centuries. It was an odd sensation to feel so, but it ran deep like waters in the earth. As if Rosie were able to read his mine she asked quietly.

"When the time comes John, would you want us both?"

Childermass looked at her, his hand resting against her cheek.

"Yes."

Their eyes remained locked for a long moment; Rosie seeming to test the truth of this. There was deep earnestness in his eyes and strong determination too.

"Then…" she said sleepily, her eyes slowly blinking and a hand coming up to stifle a yawn. "I'll wait."


	9. Chapter 9

Childermass had untangled himself from her with great reluctance that morning, but personal matters of his own demanded his attention in the coming daylight hours. Turning to watch Rosie's sleeping form in the grey of the early morning light, she looked the most inviting prospect, even in slumber. With her was constant warmth, comfort and a strong sense of belonging, yet magic tempted and plucked at his coat tails daily. Today, before returning to Norrell he would visit Lady Pole who he had recommended to the care of John Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot, there were questions to be answered. As he sat perched on the edge of the bed, slowly acclimatising to the chill of the room and finding the rousing benefits of it, he realised the hour. Despite only just waking, it was already nearly time to depart and he was sorry for it. Indeed, it seemed a little ungallant even for a man not of a gentleman's background such as he to dash off so suddenly. Unfortunately, he must.

Whilst he sat staring ahead of him, shaking off the final embers of sleepiness, little did he know that Rosie's eyes were open and observing. This was the only quiet act he could never sense in these moments. She always let him rise first and always took those first moments to watch him. Looking at the straightness of his spine, the smooth white skin and the somewhat morning bedraggled locks slaking down his back, it was only a slight droop of his shoulders that suggested any defiance to his duties for the day. Rosie knew they would be considerable and important, but that didn't mean her heart didn't sink. At this, something about her changed and Childermass turned again, sensing she was awake.

Twisting slightly and leaning towards her, his face hovered close to hers, his hair coming to tickle the skin of her cheek.

"Mornin'," He uttered in a gravelly tone, then kissing her he continued, "I'll have to be gone soon."

Yet this sentence sounded somewhat half-hearted as he remembered all her wild, loving, beautiful brilliance from last night. His skin felt prickly and brandished all over from the unseen imprints of her fingertips. It was as though she possessed magic beneath them to lay claim to him and mark herself on him forever and always. Rosie's large eyes, deep and dark as it seemed at this moment looked at him in the short distance between them, curtained off from all the world by his loose hanging hair, yet there was no readable expression in her features.

"Where to today?" she asked keeping his gaze. Though she knew he would not lie to her, she liked to see the truth in his eyes. Childermass remained just as he was, shifting himself a little only to rest his weight on his arms for comfort.

"To see a magician about a woman."

"Not Norrell?"

"No."

"Strange?"

"Him neither." Childermass replied and this emitted a small smile from Rosie's lips.

"Does Norrell know you refer to other men as magicians?"

"He may do, he may not."

Again they looked at each other for a long moment, Childermass sorely tempted to kiss her for a again, not to rouse desire, merely to show the affection he held so deeply within him. But Rosie's eyes became more knowing as his softened and she shifted herself a little away from him, breaking the moment. Yet her eyes were still steadfast in their attention of his.

"This woman…" She began, "Does she have anything to do with this?"

Rosie's hand touched the wound at his shoulder, still bandaged from the previous day, they had been careful at least where that was concerned last night. It was tempting to look away in order to answer her question, maybe a coward would have, yet he could not.

"She did it."

He saw the muscles in Rosie's throat swallow hard and the feeling in her eyes seemed to tighten along with her jaw. Shifting herself into a seating position now, her eyes finally dropped to look at her hands resting in her lap. To many people, this would have been seen as a defeatist betrayal of the body, but Childermass knew better. For when Rosie did this, she was seeking control over her temper. Allowing her the time, though becoming conscious of it also, Childermass waited for her eyes to meet his again. But it was her words he heard first.

"After seeing you yesterday, I had made up my mind. This only makes me more certain."

At last, those eyes he knew looked up and though her words did not inspire him with confidence, he was always happier when he could see her feelings.

"Of what?"

"Of my returning to York."

The flush of feeling, anger and fear mingling together within his frame held Childermass on the brink of temptation to let his passion rise and speak in defiance. But like her he held back, dropping his head and realising the truth of the matter, this was to be the price. On the day of his shooting he had performed magic publicly in the presence of a few that knew him to save his master. Now privately, some of the magic was to disappear from his life as payment. The shooting had not been the consequence of using his magic at last, surrendering to his loyalty to Norrell, indeed it had only been a bump in the road. But now sat with her as they were, hearing what she had to say, he knew this was the charge of following magic. Her voice continued around him, wrapping him in the truth of what she spoke.

"These are not my people John; there is no sympathy for me here. All that I have and love here rests with you and yet at such a time, I cannot expect you to be pulled between two points." Childermass placed his hand on her two as she went on. "I will go back to York and when the time comes, for I know it will come, you will be back to. I have people there; I have a life there though it is much different from that of before. I have you to thank for that always. So, I can return and prosper there more than I can here. To remain here will break me and be a burden to you, even if you do not see it as such."

"I understand." He replied, his voice deep and thick. His ride to see Lady Pole was pressing upon him yet he could not move. In that moment he admired her wisdom and was thankful for it, yet still he was saddened that unlike Strange, it seemed he could not hold both spheres. Rosie turned one of her hands upwards and laced her fingers with his and her eyes glistened a little. Again they looked at each other with a loving and earnest understanding, yet both sad at how this had come to be.

"I can say this confidently, John," She said lower now, almost as though whispering a secret in a public place, but there something unearthly in her voice. "I do not know how I know but… I feel you will be back at York soon."

"With Norrell, I presume?" He replied ruefully, though marvelling at her strange sense of second sight, perhaps she was a little of the witch.

"For a time." She replied, a small smile again forming on her lips, but her eyes looked graver in a way that he found odd. It was as though she seemed sorry at the idea somehow, yet she had never liked the sound of Norrell.

Sounds of the street poured in from outside, as though a shroud around them had been pulled back and they were forced to rejoin the world. Yet it was only the day's business now in full swing and another reminder to Childermass that he must go. He wanted to ask her how she was certain about the words she had just uttered, but his time had now run out.

"When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"I will come again tonight."

"No John," She said with a sad smile, "All has been said and known this last night, let us part here, for the present."

Childermass nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, remaining there for a long second. As he moved to pull away she caught him with a kiss to the lips and another loving moment was stolen for themselves, precious seconds of borrowed time.

A little while later, both dressed and ready to rejoin the world, Childermass took a small bag of coins, more than she really needed and handed it to her. Though not knowing of her departure, he had wanted her to be taken care of for the near future. Rosie took them without argument, grateful for him always and having forgiven him for his absence. It was a hard to task to come to the conclusion to take her leave of him and London, but it was the best for him. Standing near the door ready to take his exit, the pair shared one last embrace and a kiss so intense of feeling that had she been manipulative, she could have tempted him to throw it all away for her. Yet whatever Rosie felt at this moment about leaving him, she said not a word, she did not even let her eyes betray one drop. Here, is perhaps why others had found those eyes mistrustful, for when they chose they could conceal the deepest of secrets. Childermass loved her all the more for this and as he left her home and heard her close the door behind him, he felt like another part of him had been left in her keeping. Then, before changing his mind, he walked quickly towards the next step of his destiny, for magic was in England and he was very much needed.


	10. Chapter 10

Despite his promise, Childermass had gone back to her lodgings that night. A strange compunction overcame him. All the things his cards were telling him plus the refusal of Segundus and Honeyfoot to let him see Lady Pole seemed to be flowing in an unfamiliar direction. He had to see her, feel her and speak to her this one last night. Yet on arriving he found her lodgings empty, every modest item associated with her having gone too. Had Rosie guessed that he would break his promise? This was to be it then, solely magic for the present, perhaps also for the future. As he was leaving however, he noticed a small letter perched on the mantel piece and he snatched it up and opened it with greedy impatience. There was only once sentence and its meaning was plain enough.

 _Root yourself like a tree, John, where you see fit._

With wording like that, she had the means to be a little of a philosopher herself. Rosie had been right, he was doing no good returning her at this moment, they had agreed as much. Yet he was human after all. As he held the letter in his hand he considered the wisdom of her words and his own gut instincts. Today he had ventured to find out the truth but had been rejected, but the trail did not end there, there was never just one road anywhere. Norrell had begun this story, but Childermass realised that Rosie had not meant him to consider Norrell… Strange then? No, him neither, something greater that enveloped them both… the truth. Yet at this moment, the truth was blurred like a murky glass, he would need to keep his eyes and ears to the ground, for something was coming.

In the months that followed fate swept in trials as the wills of Norrell and Strange cracked until every last fibre joining them splintered entirely. Childermass had not been in the room when the men parted, but he had heard no raised voices, no stomping of feet and no great quarrel. Yet the fallout shined a light on both men's humanity, the good and the ill-judged and it was just a matter of waiting. Whilst Childermass tried to encourage Norrell to bury the hatchet with Strange, Lascelles dripped salt into the wound until it festered and ran deeper.

As the stage of English magic played out, Childermass watched on, stepping in where he could and investigating all he was able, taking insights from his cards. Though surprisingly, he never once consulted them about Rosie and her wellbeing, amid all this magical feuding, his mind was equally drifting to her and the lack of her. Rosie's whereabouts were unknown to him, was she still in York and if so had she returned once more to the squalor of that tenement? Childermass knew that she would compromise and be thrifty, not knowing when he might appear again to support her. He only hoped it would not reduce her to her old environment. When he at last visited Strange following the death of his wife, Arabella, Childermass talked only of magic. Yet deep inside he had sympathy for the man, he could see it written of every line and dark shade on Strange's face. The loss of Arabella ran deep, right to the marrow of Strange's bones and though their circumstances were different, Childermass understood that feeling. He however had to bury his own, Rosie's existence was unknown to anyone except two of the maids.

Childermass had sent a letter to Rosie by the way of Isaac Wessle nearly two months ago in the hope it would be passed on to her. There had been no reply and on the fourth day since visiting Strange – who had now disappeared, he wrote to her again. Making sure he was discreet about it, he sat in the corner so he would go unnoticed. But he kept half an ear still on the poison and fear Lascelle's dripped into Norrell's ear as he wrote. The letter spoke volumes, yet very little of the current affairs he was taken up with. Childermass only hoped that like its predecessor, it would reach the hand of the woman he loved. Strangely, when glancing up, he saw Lascelle's happened to be observing him. The man always regarded him with mistrust and found him akin to a bad smell about the room, but this seemed a little different. As soon as the noticed the glance, Lascelle's returned his attention back to Norrell who had continued talking all the while. When the occasion arose for him to naturally leave the room, Childermass handed the letter to Dido to be sent out.

Rosie had lost count of the weeks since their parting, it was now running into being nearly half of the year since she had last seen or received anything from Childermass. On leaving him that note, it seemed she had inspired him to focus solely on his role within English magic, severing contact with her until the time was right -if at all. It gave her pain, great pain, the loss for a time was like weights on her limbs and she carried it with her everywhere. Yet she could not stall where there was absence, be inactive where there seemed to be no life. Realisations came upon her that she had agreed to this, cost what it may and that the fallout was on them both. Whilst circumstances were favourable and opportunity was kind, she laboured, saving the money he had given her for a greater time – a time when it was sure he would not return to her.

By day she walked, even in dewy mists or cheek chilling breezes and she took pride in making her small, affordable quarters pleasant. Visiting old faces that she once offered and received mutual support and good society from was taken up once more, though she did not speak a word of her time away in London. Indeed, she did not account for her whereabouts at all. At night she would return and help Isaac Wessle, though she never served anyone in the back parlour where she had once frequented small periods with Childermass on his ventures away from Hurtfew. Only twice had she set foot in it and it had given only painful nostalgia. Rosie was determined to only think of past times with fondness. After a time she was called on to sing again and she did, revisiting old melodies that she knew warmed the hearts of those drinking their ales and gins.

Rosie passed a quiet life for herself, industrious on the small scale but it made every minute matter. Where those fingers no longer threaded though hair they threaded needles instead, and they kneaded bread rather than the scalp of those that needed comfort. All in all she required very little for herself and could pass and spend both time and money moderately and usefully, such was her life now. So different was it from before, grasping for every penny, frequenting men and drinking gin. Childermass had saved her from that and though their courses had separated, hers was far better now for having known him.

Then her own time came and those few who had known her comfort and support in past days now came to her. Isa who thanks to her was healthier in mind and with a thriving child held her hand tightly as she pushed through every struggle. When the pain swept through her, contracting and pulling every muscle to a tautness that Rosie believed was beyond human durability, Isa was there. The child fought but eventually arrived crying and writhing, demanding and needing and the world changed. When fever took Rosie for several days she knew a handful of neighbours like Isa came to and fro to help. Isaac even sent food from the inn via her old drinking compatriot Lucy who had come upon the ghostly looking Childermass the night of her fall. On the third week after the birth of her child, strong enough almost as she had always been, she would swaddle him and tie him about her and go about her day. All this was a matter of continuing, she could not sit and dwell, this new arrival had brought about a new life.

The love felt was indescribable, she could look at the ghostly pale epitome in her arms. The dark hair sprouting in soft patches on his scalp and the large green eyes like her own learning to see about him. His arrival brought memories of Childermass, it was only natural when the child had some of the look of his father. Some nights Isa would take the child and Rosie returned to the inn, rebuilding her physical resilience and singing the songs she was called on to do. Frequenters cheered when they saw her, she was it seems, an important part of their revelry now. On one particular night she was called to serve a gentleman who had taken the back parlour for the means of refreshing himself. Rosie entered and served his needs for food and drink as she was able but irked by the uptight and rather rude manner he addressed all about him with. His face was pale, haughty and high cheek boned and he was clearly a man of some fashion and wealth though lacking in warmth and handsomeness. His hat remained in his lap as well as a small package, even when eating. Rosie noted he seemed concerned he might be contaminated by some none existent stain or dirt and he was clearly mistrustful of all those about him. As she was pouring him another drink, Isaac called her by name from the door and suddenly she seemed to finally receive his notice. Sharply he glanced up at her and adopted a manner of affected indifference, yet she knew he was interested in her, just not why.

"Have you worked here some time?" He asked, a thin, nasal voice that sounded put out by every word he had to utter. Rosie finished pouring before she answered and only then did she nod. "Don't you have a voice?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then how long have you worked here?"

"Several years, sir."

"I see." He drawled, taking in a slow audible breath and then she seemed to become invisible to him once more. Once the gentleman had taken his leave, Isaac approached Rosie and then pair remarked on his rudeness.

"His arrival gave some news though; he said he was making a stop here particularly before going to Hurtfew Abbey. I told him Mr Norrell had been absent for well over a year and was in London… he said he was to meet him there directly." Wessle explained.

Rosie absorbed his words and forced herself to receive them calmly and without betraying any emotion. She gave a nod of perceived interest and went back about her business, though she sang no more that night. On returning to her lodgings and left once more with her son, she looked at him sleeping for a long while and resolved what to do.

Rosie knew she could not go there, she only hoped that Childermass would happen to look in on her. Though she worried that the change of circumstances may prove inconvenient to him, she had resolved after all, that he may no longer feature in her life. On the following morning, clear enough to venture out, Rosie swaddled her son once more and placed her about him. Setting off walking at a steady pace, a small amount of vittels strapped equally to her back, she made for the hill where Hurtfew could be observed. If Norrell had returned, there would be evidence even from a distance of the house being lived in.

Though she had regained her strength, it had been some time since she had walked this far and she had to pause several times to rest and feed her son. The incline of the hill itself was the next challenge, a greater one than she had imagined and she had no choice but to take a slow, steady ascent. Reaching the top, she was breathless yet her son slept contentedly to the sound of his mother's thumping heart.

Rosie's eyes travelled down the other side of the hill, over the grounds of Hurtfew Abbey and her blood ran cold. The sight of the jet, swirling tower engulfing the premises filled her with terror. It stretched endless into the sky and encased everything within the deep black of its presence. Every hair on her body stood on end, the sound of her now racing heart thundered in her ears. Rosie's legs slowly gave way and she sank to her knees with shock onto the grass, her eyes never leaving the ebony nightmare before her. If Norrell was in there, that meant that Childermass was in there too. Helpless, all she could do as the sickening chill of dread spread over her, was wait.


End file.
